


i'm hers and she is mine.

by mouthymandalorian



Series: cherry wine [2]
Category: The Great Wall (2017)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Jealousy, Possessive!Tovar, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, Soft!Tovar, Spanking, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:40:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29925291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mouthymandalorian/pseuds/mouthymandalorian
Summary: it’s been a month since our favorite grumpy spaniard let you into his heart, but he wants more. and he wants everyone to know you’re his.reader is fem. :)
Relationships: Pero Tovar/Reader, Pero Tovar/You
Series: cherry wine [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2200734
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	i'm hers and she is mine.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr.](https://mouthymandalorian.tumblr.com/)  
> ok yeah we're back with more of this filthy softness, please buckle up and prepare for some whiplash.

Tovar stood watch of the camp, shivering and cursing this weather. Wishing you were there to keep him warm. The evenings had grown colder over the last month since he’d admitted his feelings. The group would disband for winter, and he planned to bring you home with him. He just hadn’t worked up the nerve to ask you yet. He wanted to make you his. For good.  
  
 ****The only one who knew about you was William. When the two of you had returned from your night in the woods, William had been quick to figure out something had changed. **  
**

“She’s a nice girl,” William had said, “If you can’t treat her well, leave her alone.”

Pero had wanted to argue, to tell him he would do nothing to hurt you, but he knew William was right in his concern. He’d taken up with whores and various women during their travels, but he’d never been in love. You were different. He couldn’t deny you, and he didn’t want to anymore. And so he changed for you, and only you.

“I’m going to marry her,” he’d told William.

“Does she know that?” his friend had asked, laughing at the absurd statement.

“Not yet,” Pero’d replied, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

The men of the camp were growing lonelier. Pero could tell. Their eyes wandered to you more often than not now. They missed their women back home. He understood, but he didn’t put it past any of them to try something with you. So he stood watch most nights now, much to your chagrin. It was harder to sneak around in the day, and you missed the way his cock felt buried inside of you.

“It won’t be for long, _mi amor_ ,” he’d assured you. “It’s safer if I make sure they keep away from you.”

“None of them would hurt me,” you’d said, dismissing him. He bit back the insult that rolled to his tongue, knowing you didn’t deserve it. You thought the best of people, and he didn’t want to take that away from you.

But Pero was a jealous man. And he hated the way these other men looked at you. Coveted you. Stared at the curve of your ass while you skinned an elk. Peered down your tunic while you bent over sorting mushrooms and berries.

He fucking _detested_ it.

If they knew how much he hated it, they would be afraid. If they knew how loudly you screamed his name when he had his tongue buried in your cunt, they’d leave you alone. They’d know you were his.

If he made you scream where they could hear it, they’d know.

* * *

Pero’s cock hardens, watching you next to the fire. The men are unusually boisterous, as was common when William was away, leering at you and catcalling while you’d walked to the fire. The Scottish man had a calming, authoritative presence that made the men behave. You keep to yourself, as usual, wrapped in a blanket, weaving some article of clothing or another. Pero’s face softens at the glow of your eyes.

And then _it_ happens.

As you laugh at their ridiculous jokes, one man, a drunken Englishman named John, sits next to you. You laugh at his joke, and John takes that as an invitation to move closer. To put his hands on you. To stroke the cheek of your pretty face. Pero sees red as you look at him, a tinge of fear in your eyes.

He marches over to where you sit and shoves John onto the ground.

“Don’t touch her,” Pero snarls.

“And why not?” the man slurs. “She don’t belong to no one else.”

Pero ignores him and offers you a hand. You reach out and take it, a little concerned at his aggression.

“Let me take you to your tent,” he implores.

“You have the watch,” you protest.

“Someone else can do it,” Pero snaps. Not at you, but at every other man present. You nod at him and wrap your blanket tighter around yourself. You feel anger rolling off of him.

The short walk to your tent is tense and quiet. Pero’s eyes dart toward every man around you, daring them to speak or move. He opens the tent for you and you duck in, turning to look at him.

“Get some sleep, _ángel_. I’ll be here if you need me,” he says. You nod as he closes the flap. As you undress, his silhouette against your tent calms your racing heart. You slip onto your bedroll and try to close your eyes.

Pero’s eyes had flashed in a way you’d never seen before. The men had gotten more brazen recently, it was true, but this was your last job until the spring melt. You just needed to get through it until then. You don’t know where you’ll go for the winter, but you pride yourself on your problem-solving abilities.

Where would Pero go? Does he have a family? The grumpy Spaniard reveals little about himself, but you doubt that’s unique to you. William is the only one who knows him. And they’d been traveling together for a long time.

You’re used to handling much worse than John, but having someone there to protect you if you need it is a welcome reprieve from being constantly on guard. You also can’t deny that Pero’s protectiveness stirred something in your core. Rolling on your side, the outline of your protector remains still. The camp is quiet and you drift into a fitful sleep.

* * *

The sound of canvas whooshing wakes you a short while later. Pero ducks in and holds his finger to his lips. He’s never been inside your tent before.

“It’s only me, _mi amor_ ,” he murmurs. “Rest.”

“What’s going on?” you whisper, voice raw with sleep. You jerk up, now more awake, to the sound of armor dropping to the ground and an axe clattering to the ground. The dark-haired man stands in front of you, more exposed than you’ve ever seen him. The secretive nature of your dalliances prevents full nudity from either of you.

“Coming to bed, _princesa_ ,” he soothes. This must be a dream. His tan, wide chest glows in the dim firelight from outside. Broad, muscular shoulders and a stomach that was once, perhaps, chiseled had softened with age and a healthy love of ale. Pero’s face relaxes as he stretches his long arms over his head, revealing a trail of dark hair into his trousers. Of course he doesn’t know how lovely he is. You suspect if you told him, he would scowl and tell you to stop being ridiculous.

“Is everything okay?” you ask instead, transfixed but confused.

“I don’t want to keep this a secret anymore, _ángel_ ,” he says. The declaration is simple, but its implications plant themselves deep in your heart. Lifting the thin blanket, you invite him to your bed.

He moves in behind you and wraps his arm around your waist and buries his face in your neck. His gentleness always surprises you. It’s not the first time you’ve laid in his arms, but it’s the closest you’ve been to his body.

“How do you smell this good?” he asks, inhaling you.

“I bathe,” you smirk.

“How have I never seen you bathe?” he asks.

“I do it after hunts,” you say. It’s the truth. You also have an elixir of wolfberries and hibiscus to rub on your neck between baths. He doesn’t need to know that. Let him believe you smell like heaven all on your own. You have precious few luxuries, and his awe of you is one of them.

Pero tries to keep still, to let you sleep, but he can’t. He doesn’t have the armor blocking his body from your softness. Every tiny movement from you makes him harder. He can feel precome leaking from his head.

“Pero?” you ask. You can feel him growing stiffer against your ass, and wet heat blooms between your legs.

“ _Princesa_?”

His voice is thick and husky. He’s dragging his fingers over your side, pulling up your shirt, tracing circles over your hot skin. His hand drifts upward as he kisses the back of your neck. He slips both arms around you and cups your breasts, massaging them. Gentle at first, but when he hears your quiet moan, his grip gets firmer.

It surprises you, but in a welcomed way. He’s always gentle, treating you like a glass figurine, like the princesa he insists on calling you. And it’s not bad—far from it, but you’ve begged him for more, more, more. You’ve begged him to use you. Told him that it’s okay. That you’re not a _really_ a princess.

And maybe it’s because he can finally have you fully naked. Maybe it’s the sharp intake of breath when he pinches both of your nipples and bites your neck, but something in Pero snaps.

“You’re mine, _mi amor_ ,” he hisses into your ear, pressing his hard cock into you. It’s a statement, but there is a lingering question that catches deep in his throat, an insecurity you didn’t know he had. Of course you’re his.

“Yes,” you gasp, “yes, I’m yours.”

You reach around to find him big and hard and throbbing, and slip your hand down the waistband of his trousers, curling your fingers around his length. The moan that comes from his throat is a quiet thing, needy and warm. You pump your fist and the moan gets raspier. He bites into your shoulder hard enough to leave teethmarks.

“ _Princesa_ ,” he warns, “I won’t last if you keep doing that.”

“Mm. You better stop me then,” you say, and keep going. You’re going to make him move you. You want him to take control. A growl floats into your ear and you smile because you know you’ve succeeded. He takes one hand off of the breast he’s been kneading and catches your wrist in a bruising grasp.

He rolls you onto your back and climbs onto you, caging you between his arms, pinning you with his body. A wicked grin spreads across your face as you see the wheels turning in his head.

“I could do whatever I wanted, couldn’t I, ángel?” he murmurs.

“And I’d thank you for it,” you say.

“Would you thank me loudly?” he asks, trailing a finger down your stomach, pouting his lips out.

“Do you want me to? Do you want to scream your name, Pero? Do you want me to—”

But he cuts you off, crashing his mouth into yours, growling like a barbarian. Your barbarian. You’ll take that as a yes. You part your legs, just a small amount, signaling that he can take what he wants. He trails kisses down your torso, and you know where he’s going.

Pero is a good Catholic boy, mostly. But he _loves_ looking at your pussy. He loves studying it and worshipping it and kissing, licking, sucking, biting every part. When his head settles between your thighs, he kisses your seam and opens your swollen lips with his fingers.

“I would trade all the gold I’ve ever earned to live buried in this pussy, _mi amor_ ,” he moans, gathering your slick on his fingers and shoving them in his mouth. You whimper as his words send another wave of arousal through you, and he roughly shoves his fingers inside of you. You keen, bucking your hips upward, desperate for friction on your clit.

Pero pulls his fingers out and tastes you again. You whine at him, and he slaps your inner thigh. It stings in the most wonderful way and you moan. His eyes widen, thinking he’s hurt you, and moves to check on you.

“No, it was good, please, please touch me, lick—please, Pero,” you whimper, begging him for relief. His eyes go dark and he places a kiss on your mound and moves down. His tongue finally connects with your clit, and you cry out. He grips your thighs and flicks his tongue over you, breathing deeply. The sounds are obscene—wet, slick, moans, skin on skin. You’re not trying to stay quiet and you’re sure anyone who’s awake can hear you.

You don’t care. You suspect Pero doesn’t either.

When he shoves his tongue inside of you and you yell his name, you’re sure he doesn’t care. You rock your hips back and forth, fucking yourself on his tongue. He hums and the vibrations are sinful. He raises his palm and presses it into your mound, giving you something to press into, and it’s unbelievable. Back and forth and back and forth and you feel yourself nearing your crest, but he suddenly stops. A strangled cry comes out of you, and you look down to see that his features have turned dangerous.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he commands. When you hesitate, just for a second, he lifts the hand that cups you and brings it back down with a sharp slap and it is _divine_.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he repeats.

“I’m yours, I’m yours,” you say frantically.

“ _Buena chica_ ,” he growls, and slaps your pussy again. You feel that tension inside you unfurl and push your hips up.

“Come on my tongue, _princesa_ ,” he says. He buries his face in you again and flattens his tongue against your bundle of nerves and you come so hard you see constellations. He licks up all your juices, taking himself into his own hand to relieve some of his own tension.

“Hands and knees,” he says, and you scramble to obey him.

“You’re so wet, _bonita_. I’m going to fuck you until you can’t take it anymore,” he says, and he sounds like he does when he’s preparing to fight. Animalistic. You would be afraid if you were in your right mind, but your mind has gone blank with lust, and now you just needed him in you.

“Please, Pero, please—” you say, and he brings his large hand down on your ass, twice. Two surprised yelps tumble from your mouth, and you arch your back downward and present your dripping pussy to him.

“Fuck,” he mutters, and then he’s everywhere. He’s inside you, filling you up; his hand reaches around to your throat, squeezing lightly; his gasps and grunts and moans fill your ears. It’s all him, him, him.

“You don’t want anyone else here, _bonita_ , it’s only me. Only my cock. Your cunt is mine,” he rambles, words punctuated with each thrust. He brings another hand down to your ass.

“Yes! Only you,” you whine, “Always yours.”

He moves a hand around to your clit and rubs fast circles, then cups you firmly again so you can rock into his hand.

“This is mine. I make this come, it’s mine,” he says. He is so angry and desperate and needy and possessive, and your pussy just throbs for him.

“Yes, you, only you, Pero-”

But you feel it happening again, your cunt throbs and the constellations in your eyes return but it’s harder, violent, more, and instead of squeezing around him, the force of your orgasm pushes his cock out and you scream his name until your voice is hoarse.

“Princesa,” he says, when you’ve finished, and you turn around to see his hand covered in juices to his wrist.

“I—”

But he’s busy licking you up.

“Taste so fucking good, _princesa_ , all for me,” he moans. “Get on your knees.”

You kneel in front of him and take in how beautiful he looks, fully naked, in front of you finally. You exhale and he gets a little shy, but remembers himself almost immediately. He taps your mouth.

“Open.”

He lays his cock on your waiting tongue and you open your mouth wide, relaxing your jaw, taking the entirety of him into your throat. He groans.

“Take me so well,” he says and curls his fingers around the back of your head.

He moves hips back and forth, jumping a little when you wrap your hands around his thighs to steady him. But he groans at the way you move your hands up and down, just to feel him. He fucks your mouth slowly at first, letting you get used to his length inside of you. Tears gather at the corner of your eyes, but they spurn him on. If you need him to stop, you have ways to get his attention.

“Do you like me fucking your mouth, _princesa_? Like a whore?”

A pathetic noise comes from your throat, and your nod is almost imperceptible, but he notices. He thrusts and thrusts, movements becoming more and more erratic as he gets closer to release. You move one hand to cup his balls and massage them slowly, then faster when he groans in approval.

Pero whimpers little curses in Spanish, bucking wildly. His hips stutter, cock pulsing in your mouth as he reaches his release, and this time, it’s your name that’s moaned into the night air. He comes and comes down your throat and you swallow all the salty liquid he gives you. He looks down, his chest heaving, smiling at you.

When he finally lets you go, panting and sweating, he drops to his knees. His face is soft again as he checks you for marks and bruises. The bite mark on your shoulder is fading and you still feel the sting of his hand on your ass, but you don’t care. You gather his worried face in your hands.

“It’s okay, my love. I’m fine.”

He relaxes at your reassurance and covers you in the thin blanket, settling you back on the ground. You turn to face him and he strokes your cheek with his hand.

“I deserve nothing as soft as this cheek,” he says.

“Why not?” you ask.

“I am an evil man who has done evil things.”

“Who says I haven’t done evil things?” you whisper, running your finger over the scar over his eye.

“Angels don’t do evil things,” he says, and your heart fills.

“Evil men don’t say such sweet things,” you counter. He leans in and kisses you.

“Come home with me this winter,” he says, scattering kisses on your face. “I’ll build you a home. I’ll marry you. I’ll put babies in you.”

You want to believe him, really, but he’s a mercenary. He seems to see the apprehension on your face.

“Please. Let me be good for you,” he says.

“I’ve never been to Spain before,” you say, chewing your lip.

“They’ll be lucky to have anyone so beautiful there. Please, _ángel_. Come with me,” he begs, and he’s so sincere you can’t say no.

“Okay, Pero. I’m all yours.”

* * *

The next morning, none of the men look you in the eye and a smug pride fills your chest, knowing they heard you screaming for more. William returns from his trip to the nearby village and immediately notices Pero sitting next to you, arm hooked around your waist. He sits next to Pero and claps him on the back in greeting, earning a scowl from the Spaniard.

“It’s not a secret anymore, then?” he asks, grinning ear to ear. “When’s the wedding?”

“When we get back to Spain,” you say, looking straight ahead, and you hear William sputter and choke at your answer. Pero slaps him on the back, and you can’t help but giggle at the scene.

Pero smiles in front of everyone when he leans down to press his lips to the top of your head.

“That was mean, _princesa_ ,” he says.

“I told you I do evil things,” you say.


End file.
